


Bibliophile

by thepencilnerd



Series: Unsailed Harry Potter ships [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bookworm Draco Malfoy, Bookworm Hermione Granger, Crack, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Good Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Hermione Granger is Bad at Feelings, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Library, Humor, Humorous Ending, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28831173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepencilnerd/pseuds/thepencilnerd
Summary: bib·li·o·phile- noun; a person who has a great love for reading and/or collecting books for their content, appearance, quality, format, etc.The library was a place dedicated to knowledge, studying, and peace and quiet—so why was it that when Draco Malfoy came to pick up a book, it just so happened to be checked out by the same person each and every single time?
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Unsailed Harry Potter ships [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100987
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Bibliophile

“So I should come back again next week?” Without giving a vocal response, the librarian simply nodded curtly. Sighing in defeat, Draco ran his hands through his platinum locks in frustration.

Today was the third time this month he tried checking out one of his favorite books, but all his efforts were in vain. All of them had already been checked out the day before.

“And you can’t tell me the _name_ of the person who checked out the _only_ version you had available?” he pried, agitation lacing his voice. Huffing at his insistent nature, the bookkeeper set down the levitating stack of books a little too aggressively before looking up at him with a fiery glare.

“I’ve made this clear, Mr. Malfoy,” she whispered through tight teeth. “I’m not allowed to give out any further information other than the date a title gets checked out and its respective due date.”

He grumbled. “But—”

“ _Zip it!_ ” she hushed. “Unless you fancy points from Slytherin, I expect you’ll do your best to mind your volume and come back next week, Mr. Malfoy.” 

“You promise it’ll be here by then?” he pestered again. Shaking her head, she nodded stiffly before waving him off to resume paperwork. Slumping over in defeat, Draco decided to return to the common rooms rather than risk more disappointment. 

From near-ancient registries, dusty spellbooks, worn-out creature novels, and outdated publications of the Daily Prophet, to label Hogwarts’ library as a museum would be an understatement. With rows upon rows of books that seemed to stretch for miles, was nothing short of a step into another dimension. The essence of torn paper, feathering ink, ragged covers, and a disorganized array of what had once been in alphabetical order made Draco’s young heart thrum with excitement each time he stopped by.

Reading composed the secondary essence of Draco Malfoy’s very existence. Although his passion for literature and hunger for the discovery of new magical books was constantly growing, his patience began wearing thin ever since that fated Monday so many months ago.

Over the past few months of falling back into the habit of re-reading his favorite books, he never expected in a million years that every single one he’d want to read would always somehow be checked out by a mysterious benefactor. _The Tales of Beedle the Bard?_ Checked out last week. _Omniscia Trevellius’ Taxonomy of Magical Creatures?_ Currently unavailable. _An Auror’s Guide to Occlumency?_ Scheduled to be returned next week. You’d think that with an inventory nearly the size of a bloody mansion, there’d be at least _two_ copies of each book in stock. Unfortunately, the odds were never in the Slytherin’s favor.

Sure, he could always ask his mother to send him the books he’d wanted, but it wasn’t just the book he sought out; it was the environment. The background hum of hushed voices, the light rustling of pages from nearby readers, and right down the faint scent of aged wood and antique paper pages that laced the air, everything about the atmosphere was all-too inviting for Draco to resist.

As two books turned into five and five turned into eleven, the former excitement of re-reading his old faithful works of literature had slowly grown into anticipation of whether or not they’d actually be on the shelves. Each time he left the library after hearing the repeated melody of, “Come back next week when the book gets returned,” a strange feeling began consuming him. At first, it seemed like a coincidence.

To be fair, most of the books he was interested in checking out were fairly popular, so it’d make sense that they were unavailable. However, in his mind, it all seemed too incidental. Since then, a theory began to develop in the back of his mind, and the chances of it being true were almost little to none, but that didn’t stop him from pondering over it.

Jogging up the creaky stairs to the second floor, Draco was determined to find another book to keep him occupied, at least until he got his hands on _Hogwarts: The History of Houses_ next week.

There were a handful of possible answers to the dilemma. One revolved around the plausible theory that since his favorite books were no less than iconic in nature, it only made sense that they would be read by many. The second involved the much less plausible theory that Draco Malfoy had an equally book-obsessed stalker who was hell-bent on making his enjoyable weekends at the library a living hell—but as stated earlier, that theory seemed much less plausible to a certain degree.

After a couple of minutes of carefully walking past tables of stone-faced and deadly silent students, Draco found himself in a familiar aisle; the historical section. Tracing his fingers over the edges of the neatly aligned book spines, he settled his fingertips on another novel he held near and dear to his heart: A Beginner’s Guide to Potion-making by Cressida Veritas. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, he slid it out of the shelf and clutched it close to his heart, smiling sweetly at the satisfying feeling of the hardcover pressing assuringly against his chest. Guarding it close, he turned a corner to a hideaway he had made for himself as a regular here. The secluded area was nothing more than a cozy hidden spot that virtually no one knew about. Except for Draco, of course.

The reason it was rarely occupied by anyone was due to the fact it was the only corner of the floor that didn’t have a specifically organized genre shelf or pre-set-up seating area. All that decorated the remote nook were a few plush comforters and detached seat cushions, courtesy of Draco. With hundreds of available tables and paired seats, no one really paid attention to the solitary corner of the library, and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Settling himself on the cushion, he stretched out his legs and pulled a pillow close to his side. Before he began reading, he had formed an almost ritualistic habit of admiring the antique condition of the texts. Trailing his fingertips over the now-flat metallic engravings and skimming the frayed edges of the pages, a warm grin spread to the edges of his lips.

He could never explain the feeling of what it was like to have a book in his hands. It was daunting to him how ink could paint such a magnificent picture. The endless combinations that words and thoughts could compose when paired together and the possibilities that presented themselves in the form of bound paper?

Indescribable.

When he placed the book onto his lap, it opened itself to a random page. At least, it _appeared_ that way. Embedded in the block of the page was a pressed aster flower. Eyeing it carefully, Draco furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

 _‘It seems too valuable for someone to just forget and leave it here...’_ he thought.

Grasping the delicate film in between his fingers, he couldn’t help but observe and admire the details of the immaculately intact foliage. The purple petals were perfectly smooth, probably due to the period of time it was wedged between the pages, and the blades of each petal remained crisp like a freshly fallen blossom. Examining it further, he noticed that the veins of the petals were not only near-transparent and paper-thin, but were also outlined and handpainted a deep gold color.

Another heartfelt smile began to form on his face at the beauty of what would normally be considered a seemingly insignificant bookmark. Scanning his eyes at the spot the bookmark was placed in, he let out a huff of surprise at the line he had known by heart.

**_“A sense of tender curiosity as opposed to blind lust; an insatiable hunger of the soul, not body, the latter of which can be sated with the pleasure of physical nature.”_ **

Page 57 describing the difference between the effects of amortentia versus true love. The words made old memories arise from when he first came across the book. Months went by as he tried to analyze and dissect the underlying message, but it wasn’t until his first crush came along and made him understand the true meaning of the words themselves. Reading over the words once more, he directed his gaze back to the purple bloom in hand.

‘ _You’re quite the peculiar thing, aren’t you?_ ’ he couldn’t help but speculate. 

Smiling to himself once more, he tucked the bookmark safely inside his wallet, making sure to mind the delicate edges of the petals. Draco rose from his cozy spot and almost tumbled down the stairs in a hurry, unable to contain the excitement that began brewing at the premeditated lazy Sunday he’d have all to himself. 

* * *

The three-day weekend passed by in a blur of spilled tea, procrastinated charms scrolls, and feeble attempts at building House spirit.

Skipping to the front of the library, he earned a few obscure glares from the students who sat at the tables around him. No one except Draco could be in such a good mood on a bloody Monday.

“Good day!” he grinned brightly, eyes forming into half-moons when he flashed his pearly white smile. Standing on his toes, he raised his eyebrows in an attempt to peep at the bookkeeper’s workspace, hopeful that at least one of the books he tried checking out last week was returned.

He could’ve sworn she rolled her eyes. “Calm down,” she opened one of the creaky wooden drawers and stood up to hand him a black hardcover book. Before Draco could jump around like a giddy preschool child, she pressed her lips into a thin line and widened her eyes at him, a silent warning to not do exactly what he was about to do. 

Scrunching his lips sheepishly to hold back the string of thanks that threatened to spill, he bowed his head in thanks. 

“Thank you,” he beamed with overflowing glee. With the book held tightly in hand, he quickly trod up the stairs to his usual hideout. Focusing on the detailed pattern on the cover, his feet quickly carried him to the hidden corner he knew like the back of his hand.

As he exhaled at the familiarity of the serene corner once again, his body melted into the pillowy cushions. Opening the book to the first page, the edges of his lips lifted into a trace of a smile as his eyes grazed the italicized title. 

##  **_Once A Wizard, Always A Wizard by Anonymous_ **

Just as his mind was about to note how it was another one of his favorites, he realized that there really was no such thing as a “ _bad_ ” book—just ones that didn’t particularly suit people’s tastes at the time they read them. 

In a matter of minutes, he was already done with the beginning introductory chapters. Words translated into images that whizzed past his mind faster than a vintage film roll, and the lines of ink were slowly beginning to envelop his mind in vivid imagination. 

Turning onto the next page, his intense gaze wasn’t met by black printed font, but rather by a bookmark. Not just any bookmark—the exact same aster flower he saw last week; purple, veined, paper-thin, and faintly fragrant. 

His eyes refused to further down the page. Once is an accident, but twice makes it a coincidence. Right? 

**_“True magic lies not in the power of the spell, but within the caster of the spell itself.”_ **

Swaying to the logical side of his brain, Draco considered the realistic possibilities. In his mind, this bookmark seemed too personal to be a product of a charm, but it also seemed entirely too cliché for it to belong to the exact same person from last week. Book cult signature insignia? A silent protest against the greatest minds in literature? Or maybe it was just another bookworm who enjoyed tagging the pages with the best quotes in them for future reference. Better than dog-earing a library book, no less a magical one. 

Hundreds of people probably read this edition before he did. Within those hundreds of people, it just so might have been possible that the same person who checked out Veritas’ book. 

Now it was time for the illogical side of Draco’s brain to kick in. In the simplest of terms, it mimicked that of a cheesy romantic movie trope that got tossed about two minutes into the pilot meeting. Was there some kind of “flower bookmark” holiday he wasn’t aware of? Who had the time to waste practicing charms as useless as this? _Did he have a stalker?_

He let out an audible cough to hide a snort. The only person that would ever be interested in stalking a solitary creature like Draco would be people _sentenced_ to. They’d probably die of boredom within the first few hours.

Pulling the encased flower from its wedged position, his stare tried to search for any clues; initials, writing, markings, or even fingerprints in an effort to try and see if his inner Auror would be of any use to him. As if he actually expected anything to present itself, the results were nonexistent. 

He snapped the book shut and exhaled through his nose. Why was he thinking so much about it? So what if someone else had the same tastes as him? What difference did it make if their favorite quotes from their favorite books mirrored that of his? Wagging his head back and forth rapidly to snap himself out of his daze, Draco, reluctantly, decided to call it an early day. 

There are two types of people in the world; thinkers and feelers, talkers and doers, skeptics and believers, and those who don’t deem any of the above to be of any importance in any given situation regarding life. Ironically, as hard as Draco tried to make himself out to be a hardheaded stone-cold Slytherin, it was clear to anyone that he was, in fact, the exact opposite. 

The book thief predicament continued on for weeks and didn’t show any signs of stopping or slowing down. Page by page and book after book, the sight of a single flattened purple flower became an everyday sight. At this point, the longer he denied the occurrence, the fear of going genuinely insane began to grow. Often times, he found himself sitting in his once relaxing spot questioning his own sanity. Was he just imagining the bloody thing? 

Distracted by his own thoughts, Draco didn’t bother keeping his eyes focused on where he was walking. Apparently, the oncoming passerby didn’t either. 

Contrary to being conditioned into forming a habit of whispering in the library, Draco gasped out loud when his forehead came into contact with a cloaked figure, causing the two to collapse onto their knees from the impact. Emitting a muted groan, Draco looked up with a scrunched expression as he rubbed his temple and attempted to form words. Rather than seeing a mirror image of someone also rubbing their forehead, the stranger was hunched over in a child’s pose, presumably in great pain. How fast were the two of them walking?

“Watch where you’re going!” he groaned while letting out a pained whimper. Seeing how they were still kneeling on the floor, Draco felt a wave of guilt wash over him. “Are you alright?” Unable to see the person’s face, he could only see the back of their head; a flowing pool of toffee-brown locks. Unruly, toffee-brown curls, might he add. He started to worry when they didn’t respond. Reaching down with one hand, the figure peeked up ever-so-slightly and immediately recoiled in— _fear_? It looked as if they recognized him instantly, but Draco hadn’t even gotten a proper look at their face.

Standing up with their head tucked down, the figure apologized wordlessly by ducking their head, grabbing the book they dropped, and running off, disappearing almost as quickly as they had appeared.

Left in a state of shock, pain, utter confusion, and slight offense, his eyebrows furrowed. What was their problem? Trying to brush it off, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit annoyed that they didn’t even apologize or ask if he was alright, but it _was_ Monday after all. Ushering himself to forget the rude occurrence, Draco stood up with one hand still pressed on his forehead and the other holding his book—the only thing keeping him sane today—and continued his way to his quiet spot. 

“Stop frowning mate, you’ll turn into your great grandfather at this rate,” Blaise reminded for the third time today. Pressing a finger to the purple spot on his temple, Draco growled at him. His recent library fiasco left him with a bruised ego and face. Oddly enough, the latter was much more bearable. The only other sound besides the shuffling of papers in the empty space was the occasional scold Draco received from his best friend. 

It was a mellow Saturday but the library remained open. Draco, having nothing better to do for the weekend, decided it was a good idea to invite Blaise for a quick chat. Thankfully, no one else was masochistic enough to spend a perfectly good weekend surrounded by dusty books. 

Grumbling under his breath, his friend frowned. “Is something going on with you these days?” His tone switched from badgering aunt to a caring sibling like the flick of a wand. 

Draco pressed his lips together, mindlessly repeating the action of scribbling nonsense onto a disappearing scroll. It calmed him. 

Prying the scroll and quill from his hands, Blaise slammed his fist on the table. The sudden action forced him to look up from his robotic state and form a bewildered face. 

“You’re acting like you just lost the ability to read for the rest of your life,” he stated. “Why have you been so miserable for the past few weeks? Did someone break up with you? Has Snape been a prick? Head injury from the quidditch match you had two days ago? Identity crisis? Who do I need to beat up?” 

“Blaise!” he growled, burying his face into his hands. The last thing he needed was for his best friend to assume he was getting over a relationship, let alone think that he had a _girlfriend_. The word itself made a shiver run down his spine.

“I’m just—it’s—” he stuttered. “It’s just this—stupid thing.” Sighing at how pathetic he sounded in his own head, Draco sighed in sheer frustration. The next time he saw a purple aster, he’d make sure the ending result would involve it being crushed under his feet or torn into shreds by his hands. 

“I’m a Slytherin, not a bloody legilimens,” he huffed. “Help me out, mate.” 

“It’s these!” Bursting into a fit of restrained emotions, he gestured to the mountains of books around him. “These _things_ . Every single time I come here to try and relax with the books I love, all I end up with is feeling like I have some sort of stalker slash parallel universe clone who reads the exact same books as me and marks the same quotes and has a weird fetish for flower bookmarks. I mean, they could’ve used a tagging charm or a feather if they were feeling particularly primitive, but _no_. They had to—”

“Flower bookmark?” his ears perked up at the words, halting his avalanche of words momentarily. “Are you—”

Waving his hand to take a breath of air before continuing his rant, he shook his head rapidly. “I know, I know, it’s dumb, right? Who _charms_ their own bookmarks and then leaves them wedged in library books? More specifically, just to mark a good quote?”

“But—” he pointed his finger and held a hand up as he tried to speak, but was cut off by Draco each time, clearly in need of a venting session.

“Why am I even obsessing over it?” Draco chuckled in disbelief as his hand slapped his own forehead. If his eyebrows rose any higher, they’d be about two centimeters from flying off of his face. “Hundreds, no— _thousands,_ of people read books here. People check out the same book all the time. It just so happens to be the same stupid bookmark in the same stupid book with the same stupid quote—”

“ _Draco Malfoy_!” Blaise snapped. 

Overwhelmed by the flurry of word vomit that continued to spill from his lips, he was too distracted to notice the sound of footsteps that echoed from behind him. 

“I think I’m going insane...” he deadpanned, resting the side of his face on the desk and staring blankly at the rows of books that seemed to mock him. 

“Blaise!” a soft voice greeted. “Fancy seeing you here on a Saturday?” 

“Had nothing better to do,” Zabini laughed. “Need I ask what you’re doing here?”

Huffing to himself, Draco stayed frozen in time, minding his own business and not listening to their casual banter. So Blaise _did_ have other friends...

“I needed to return a book,” the unfamiliar voice giggled. Cutely, might he add. Drifting off into a bored trance, Draco earned himself a slap on the back of the head from his friend.

“Don’t be rude, Draco. Introduce yourself,” he whispered through a smile, tilting his head towards the only other person in the library. 

Lifting his head from the desk, Draco directed his stare behind him as a figure came to view. A sweet smile crossed his features like second-nature as he waved to the stranger. Opening his mouth to greet them, his breath hitched in his throat when his gaze met hers. Bushy hair. Toffee-colored curls. Gryffindor robes. More specifically, his eyes strayed to the blooming bruise that mirrored his. 

“Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger.” Introducing them to each other, the two reached out awkwardly and shook hands. Draco’s mouth was still parted as he attempted to form at least a greeting.

“Hi—hello,” he finally managed to make out.

A nervous grin crept onto her face when Draco noticed he was still holding onto her hand. Retreating sheepishly, his cheeks flushed a bright pink color. “Hi,” she murmured.

Blaise’s eyes bounced back and forth between Draco and Hermione, still oblivious to their matching battle scars. “Do you two know each other?” he asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

The two were in such a daze that they’d forgotten Blaise was also in the library. Snapping both of their heads to him, Blaise’s hands flew to his agape mouth when he too noticed the matching bruises. 

“Huh,” Blaise chuckled. “I guess this is where I bid the bibliomaniac and bibliophile goodbye.” Shuffling away awkwardly, Blaise shot the pair a teasing wink before running out into the halls. With Blaise gone, the socially inept bookworms were left to their own devices, silent and struggling to find the courage to speak first.

A few seconds passed by like minutes, and the tension only seemed to grow; an unavoidable outcome, given the current circumstance. Hermione Granger was the book thief he’d been chasing for the past—three months? Noticing Draco’s lingering gaze that trailed higher than her eyes, Hermione’s hand instinctively shot up to the dark purple spot on her forehead.

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” she mumbled softly, eyes glued at the floor for the fear that he’d see her red cheeks through her shielding hands. 

Blinking a couple of times to make sure that this wasn’t the product of a Sleeping Draught, Draco cleared his throat. What if this was all just one big dream? 

“So you’re the book thief,” he chuckled half-heartedly, still in shock that he had finally found her. 

Raising her eyebrows, she stood frozen like a deer in headlights before remembering to breathe. “Oh—yeah. That...” The Gryffindor rubbed the back of her neck as nerves began to overcome her. “And you must be the book hoarder?” 

Pursing his lips to hold back a childish snort, Draco nodded. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one that made up a nickname. More seconds of awkward silence followed, making the pair burst into laughter at their similar nature. 

“I’m sorry,” she choked into timid coughs. “I’m not good at this whole—socializing thing.” Draco could’ve sworn his heart hiccuped at her confession. Was she a legilimens or a Seer? 

“No, no!” he assured, waving his frantically in rebuttal to comfort her flustered state. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m awful at it.” Flashing a bright smile at his crescent-shaped eyes, Hermione noticed that his face seemed to glow like the moon when he laughed. 

“God,” she facepalmed, still giggling and blushing at how embarrassing this entire meeting was. “Where should we start?” 

Biting his lip while grinning in thought, Draco felt his pulse race as newfound confidence revealed itself.

“Maybe we can talk about your obsession with floral page-markers?” Giggling softly, she broke into another smile. How could anyone resist a face like that? Nodding in submission at his undeniable soft nature, she came up with a split-second decision that might aid in diffusing the tension that still lingered. 

“Would you like to go upstairs?” she offered shyly, the blushing warmth of her racing pulse still evident on the center of her face. 

Holding back another giddy smile, Draco nodded eagerly, allowing both to walk side by side up the stairs they knew all too well. 

Turning right at the anthropology and history text shelf, the narrow aisle led Hermione and Draco to the hidden corner she loved. 

“You know where this is?” Draco gawked. His face was that of pure astonishment, but he spoke with a pout in his voice, probably disappointed that another soul knew of the whereabouts of the ‘secret garden’ that was hidden in the old building. “I thought this was a _super-secret_ hideout...” 

Breaking into a chuckle at his stupefied look, she nodded proudly. Typical Gryffindor. Sitting down and patting the cushion beside her, he sat down carefully. “Who do you think added the extra pillows?” 

Opening and closing his mouth like a broken clock, Hermione took the chance to lift the corner of the fluffy blanket and reveal a book the size of a Ministry manuscript. Concealed by the bulk of the blanket and positioning of the cushions, it wasn’t a book at all, but rather a hollowed-out book that served as a hidden compartment. In said compartment lied a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Sugar Quills, Acid Pops, Chocolate Cauldrons, and Fudge Flies. 

Draco’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “How did—when did you— ” he stuttered. “How? What? You’re—”

She burst into a fit of laughter and was on the verge of getting a stomachache. He was cute when he was speechless. “I think I’m the only other person who knows this library as well as you do. If you haven’t noticed, I’m here all the time.” Tearing open a box of Fudge Flies, she tossed one into his agape mouth and smiled at his reaction. Just like a child, he began chewing mindlessly, unable to resist the delectable treat. “And I was here yesterday.”

“Let me get this straight,” he said with food still in his mouth. “You were coming downstairs after hanging out _here_ , and you ran away from me after that collision because you knew who I was?” 

Hiding her face in her hands, she mumbled a barely inaudible “yes” at the factual statement. “I thought you’d have some sneaking suspicion about why the cushions were out of place by the time you got there.”

“I knew I wasn’t going crazy...” he muttered to himself. Popping another snack into his mouth, the chewing gave Hermione time to mask her mortified face and relax into the plush fabric. 

“So what’s with you and stratified dead foliage?” Draco finally asked, carefully reaching over for another Fudge Fly. No one could resist chocolate, after all. 

An unintentional snort escaped her when his blatant honesty registered in her mind. It nearly made her choke. Was he really a Slytherin? Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a familiar-looking flower. Since starting first year, Hermione always made sure to carry one around with her for good luck. 

Biting her lip as she tried to concentrate on coming up with a response, she sighed. “When I was a toddler, I always got in trouble for reading too much. During naptime, I’d be nose deep in a book when everyone was asleep. The teachers would scold me for not playing with the other kids during lunch. I’d come home upset. Sometimes, I’d cry because I was so frustrated that no one understood that I just wanted to be left alone with my book.” 

Draco was listening intently as a wispy smile crossed her face at the memory. He had absolutely no idea why time would be allotted in school for sleeping, but he brushed it off as minute detail. What kind of spells did the young witch learn that required resting periods in between? 

“My mum saw how upset I was, so one day, she asked me if I wanted to make bookmarks with her,” she continued. “Muggle activity, you see. She told me about how if I left one in each book that I loved, the person who found it would be someone important. Someone special.” 

That made much more sense. Contrary to his familial views, Draco had always found Muggles to be the curious type. His gaze pierced through her eyelashes as he wrapped his hands around hers, still clutching the fallen blossom.

"I assume the meaning of the flower is just as important?" Draco inquired. 

She nodded with a small grin. "It's my birth flower. Supposedly, it's meant to symbolize wisdom, patience, and valor. My dad mentioned something about it being burned to ward off snakes in ancient Europe." With a nervous chuckle, Draco's eyes met hers. When she looked up, her breath hitched in her throat. “But that seems a little elusive, right?” she whispered. 

“After everything we’ve gone through these past few months, I think it’s just about plausible.” His voice was confident. Studying his features, the edges of her lips perked up into a smile. 

A warm blush fanned over her freckled cheeks once again, but this time, she wasn’t the only one whose face had gone rosy.

“Nice to meet you, _Draco_ ,” she giggled, welcoming the warmth of his hands that enveloped hers perfectly. When he began running his fingertips over the tops of their joined hands soothingly, an awestruck expression flashed across his face. 

“Nice to meet you, _Hermione_ ,” he replied softly as her name flowed off of his lips like honey. 

**_“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”_ **

  
  



End file.
